The Impractical Suicide of Lilly Riddell
by LillyRiddel
Summary: Uploading the first chapter as an experiment... I've never read or written fanfiction before, but I really liked this idea, so I'm giving it a go as a story. Please comment if you'd be interested in reading any more. Be warned, it deals heavily with the topic of suicide.
1. Chapter 1

The Impractical Suicide of Lilly Riddell

I can't pinpoint the exact moment I started wanting to die. The idea was growing inside me for a long time before I consciously thought it. I do remember waking up one morning, a few weeks into my final year of school and thinking _I really wish I hadn't done that._

And then I thought: _Done what?_

_Woken up. _I responded to myself. Now _I have to go through an entire day before I can get back into bed._ _I just want to sleep forever._

_Isn't that just death? _I asked.

_Yeah, I suppose it is._

Of course, then I had to get up, and the whole thing was shelved for a while. But it didn't go away. As time went on, the idea of not living anymore became increasingly appealing. My life had become a book with a big, migraine-inducing midsection that was making me dread to turn the page. I'd lost patience.

I guess you wana know the grisly details, huh? What "drove me to it"? Well, the answer is nothing, moron. My name is Lily Riddell (that's _Rid-el_, by the way. Lilly Riddle sounds like a toadstool) and my life is basically fine. I've got two living, married parents, a nice house, and plenty friends. Not best friends, of course. I just hover on the edge with them as I do in class, or at home, or anywhere really. You don't need a fake passport to disappear, it turns out. Just stop talking, smile when they do, and you'll slowly edge to the periphery of life. Everyone will be too preoccupied with their own stories to ask where you're going.

So that's it, you conclude. She's lonely. Well, that's a part of it. But it's not like I'm a castaway on a deserted island. I chose to be like this, because the few times I thought I was close to someone, they've ended up showing me otherwise. Nothing dramatic, mind you: just little things. Telling my secrets, standing me up, fazing me out, that sort of thing. So I gave up, and slowly stopped enjoying anything.

I'd been like this for pretty much all of year twelve, but I persevered with it. I thought I might get engaged in life again eventually, if I gave it time. Time went by, and nothing changed, until I woke up one morning and regretted it.

The question was, of course, _how_? What would be the easiest way? As much as I wanted my life to be over, it would be good only for me. I couldn't stand the thought of Mum or Dad having to find me in the bathtub. Of my friends feeling crushing guilt for never noticing (well, I kind of liked that idea to be honest, but I knew it was unfair). The impact my suicide would have on my family, on my school... and worst of all, dying itself. Sitting alone, feeling the life drain out of me bit by bit. Hearing my heart rate slow down. Struggling to breathe.

It all seemed so pathetic.

I wanted to jump in front of a bus to save a baby or something, dumb as it sounds. Take a bullet for someone. The people I knew would still be impacted, but not nearly as badly. It wouldn't haunt them for years to come at least.

And they wouldn't look at my gave and think "I never knew she was so weak."

Maybe even "I never knew she was so brave."

So naturally, you can see the attraction that becoming a companion held.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

The answer came to me in the form of a memory stick. It was shaped like a lego and I found it taped to the door of my locker on a Monday morning, a few weeks after I'd had my first suicidal thoughts. That's the word for them, right? Seems a bit clinical to me. I thought of them as morning mooches, but I guess the terminology became defunct when I started thinking about it during the

day as well. But I digress.

The lego was red, and it was stuck up there with a square of shiny duct tape. I peeled it off and opened up the little lid, examining it from every angle. There was no writing, no kind of explanation. I assumed it had been put there by mistake, but I decided it would be best to take a look anyway because I'm a nosy little shit and it was my locker.

It's weird, how much that little mystery improved my day. Having been numb inside for so long, the tiny spark of curiosity felt... surprising. As hard as I tried to prepare myself for anticlimax, it refused to go away. I sat in class, I thought about it. I ate my lunch, I thought about it. Walking home, I thought about nothing else.

Part of me wanted not to know, just to stave off inevitable disappointment. But that's the thing about curiosity: it makes you do all kinds of stupid shit. I rushed through my homework, and was firing up the laptop and plugging the lego in before you could say "self restraint".

I opened it up. There were five files, each with a girl's name: _Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy, Clara. _

You can imagine how fucking weird that looked.

I thought I'd stumbled on some serial killer's secret database or something. So I clicked on Rose, and a big bastard of a word document popped up, over fifty pages long.

It was her story, right from the beginning.

I read it all the way through. There were pictures, personal accounts, military reports and witness statements, and large blocks of text filling in the gaps that read like wikipedia entries. Some sections, like her childhood, were brushed over, but the later entries went into some intense detail. When I was done with her, I went straight on to Martha. I couldn't help myself. The curiosity I had been so afraid of losing grew stronger and stronger with each new file. I read until three in the morning, hiding my laptop under the duvet when my folks came home from their respective jobs. And I must say, it was a wild ride.

Of course, the presence of aliens had become widely known over the past decade. Seemed like we couldn't go a year without some scaly fucker trying to explode London, usually at Christmas. But it had made a weirdly small impact, aside from a spike in the popularity of winter getaway cottages. This, though. This was something else altogether. A manic demon-god, a face changing time traveller, picking up babes in his phonebox and getting into as much danger as possible, leaving a trail of dead bodies as he went. A crazy ancient dickhead from beyond the stars.

It had gone past being too weird to be true, and come full circle until it all felt too weird to have been made up.

And I _loved it._

I was wide awake when I finished, so I went online and found more. Not much, but more. Conspiracy sites, for the most part, presenting half-assed "proof" that he was more than just an obscure internet legend. People who thought they'd seen him in boots, that sort of shit. But it was enough evidence for me.

When I finally made myself shut down my laptop and get horizontal, my mind was still buzzing. An idea had taken hold, just a little one, but with huge implications.

What if I could convince him to take me next? A successor to all those other girls? There didn't seem to be much of a quota for coming along. You mostly had to be in the right place at the right time.

I didn't like the idea of him, specifically. "The Doctor", as he called himself. Hiding your name is one thing, but changing your face as well? Asshole clearly had something to hide. But that didn't matter. I could see the universe, fight monsters and robots, never have two days the same.

And of course, die at the first opportunity.


End file.
